Times of Turmoil
by virtualhotcocoa
Summary: Silver eyes and dark cells. This image has filled the mind of Harry Potter ever since the beginning of Christmas break. One night, the vision stops and he is filled with dread over the fate of those molten eyes. Will he find the person in time? HD slash


AN: This is my first fanfic. I have been reading from this website for many months and I felt that it was about time to contribute to something that I have personally been enjoying. I am not sure if I should continue with this story or whether it is well written at all. Please tell me what you feel that I should do: delete it, continue and if so, where would you like to see the story go? Please review. I appreciate any, and all contributions.

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Frost was beginning to collect on his eyelashes as he wandered aimlessly down the desolate road but he neither seemed to notice nor care about his condition. His lips had begun to turn into a faint shade of blue, a telltale result of the cold weather that surrounded him. Waves of sharp pain coursed through his thin body with each step that he took and yet he was fazed by none of these things as he continued on his way. He had been in this state for nearly an hour, walking in the frigid weather wearing nothing other than his oversized pajamas and armed with nothing more than his wand.

As he trudged through the snow, the only thing that was able to invade his numb mind were those eyes, those piercing, molten eyes that had affected his soul like nothing he had ever experienced before. Ever since he had returned to the Dursleys' for winter break these eyes appeared to him every time he closed his eyes to sleep. In these dreams an image of a dark room was the first thing that was recognizable. The stones of the cell looked worn from age and stained with the blood of nameless victims that had been tortured in there over the ages. In the corner of the dreary cell he saw the outline of a lone person, emaciated and visibly shaking, whether from fear or the cold he did not know. As he stood there in his dream he noticed the figure look up at him. Nothing save for his eyes shone in this dark room but it was these very eyes that affected him so much. In them there was a look of helplessness and vulnerability that tugged at his heartstrings and made him want to come to the person's aid. Each time, he and the unknown person would lock eyes and continue to stare at each other for an unknown amount of time, one gaze calculating and one pleading. On every occasion a noise would suddenly pierce through the thick silence that had formed and the silver eyes would wince at the sound and as the echo of footsteps approached, the silver eyes would drop and all would fade back into reality. This is how the dream ended each time, with the boy waking with a start, feeling helpless and scared and never knowing the fate that awaited those silver eyes in the cell. Every time he saw those eyes looking up at him they seemed more desperate and hopeless.

Maybe it was the hero-complex that he possessed or his Gryffindor characteristics but he wanted to help those eyes, the person who seemed in need of his aid. Last night had finalized this yearning to help. Upon falling asleep the pair of molten eyes that he had grown so accustomed to seeing had not shown up but instead of feeling relieved at the possibly of a restful sleep, he felt anxious. A feeling of dread came over him and he lay in bed and thought about all possible scenarios. He knew that the person was in trouble and was probably hurt, which could be gathered from the wince that was made each time the footsteps were heard. He sat there trying not to overreact, after all he had a tendency to jump to conclusions in the past and he promised himself not to let anyone else get hurt as a result of his bad judgments.

After pondering for over an hour he realized that each minute he spent in that room, that person might be slowly dying and he didn't need another death on his shoulders. After coming to this conclusion he immediately left the home on Privet Drive to search for those eyes. As he walked those eyes gazed at him from inside his mind, asking, begging for help and he knew that he was the only one able to rescue this innocent soul, it was probable that no one else knew of the person's condition. Trudging through the knee deep snow he thought about how cruel fate can be. Fate had planned for him to not only end the greatest source of evil in the Wizarding World but also to rescue this person from their situation with nothing to go on but a pair of molten eyes but who better to complete this task? After all, he_ was_ Harry Potter.


End file.
